


wrong lie to give

by mushroomherb



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sad Hannibal Lecter, Sad Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, but boy he too late, but he gave up cuz it's all too much, he wants to be with bb but too late, not that heavy but kinda, too much tragedy in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomherb/pseuds/mushroomherb
Summary: Chiyoh was dead. No one else knew besides Hannibal and the bearer of the news herself, Bedelia. And what of it for Will, what of the doctor’s slight change in behaviour, if Hannibal became a little distant after that? It wasn’t like he cared for the murderous cannibal, right?
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	wrong lie to give

A slight change in someone’s demeanour shouldn’t matter to Will, it didn’t matter to his empathy either, he’d just need a second or two to adjust to the change, but nothing else. It also never bothered him, though, a bit of a bother it was, once when Alana had kissed him and realised it wasn’t the best choice she ever did make and she told him he was unstable. And then he ran to Hannibal for _comfort_.

The rejection itself wasn’t the source of some weird tugging in his chest, the latter was, _running like a needy teenager post-heartbreak_.

It shouldn’t matter to Will. But to who the change was happening at the moment, to say that it didn’t affect him, to say that it didn’t matter to him, was a _big, fat_ lie.

Took notice of it when he saw him on the other side of the glass wall, thick as his glasses. French deco of bold beige colours on the wall, the concrete structure was covered very well, dark wood on the rims, not the exact same materials for the floor, and Hannibal himself, ugly jumpsuit as neat as ever, no rumpling, no crinkle, but nothing else besides that.

Sat on the thin parquet wood flooring, eyes closed in a state of something Will believed to be _peace_ , Hannibal’s head tilted to the side, as if someone was borrowing his shoulder for a solid grip to reality, and he was leaning his head against that someone’s head. It was _weird_ seeing him like that, almost _unpleasant_. Hannibal was always straight with his stature, no slouches or lurches of the spine, as an arrow upwards, not even bending like said arrows tend to do nearing its target when shot straight up.

So when he saw him like that, an echo of his _big, fat_ lie ringing at the back of his head, a lie that he said just from a few days before, a step back was needed for him to not _jump_ , be _startled_ , when Hannibal regarded him in his silence.

“Hello again, Will,” Hannibal greeted him, lids still shut off.

( _Was it good to see me?_ )

_Good? No._

He had believed himself if it wasn’t that pathetic of a lie.

There were no little upturns of Hannibal’s lips as he stood up in the emptiness of the room, eyes opened in the process, Will took a step closer.

Hannibal had always been so engaging, probably served him really well as the intelligent serial killer that he was. No matter the circumstances, engaging was one word to describe the doctor at all times. Even when Will took advantage of him, made use of him, like a ragdoll of utter uselessness. Excitement, he dared to say, every time there was a chance to be in close proximity with Will. Questions to ask, to prod –mundane, _irritatingly sincere_ questions, those things you asked after a long day to a parent, a mum, a sister, colleague, a _family_.

Hannibal stayed silent that day. Feet padded lightly across the room to close the distance between.

Will should ask of him the plan, _about_ the plan, Jack’s and his and Alana’s. Should talk to him about the deal, should look Hannibal in the eyes and ask and sugar-coat things and ask and– say _please_.

He wanted to, say that, _please_ , but for a much different reason.

 _Is something the matter? Tell me, please_.

Instead he told him about the FBI’s pleas for his help, for an insane psychiatrist’s insight of Tooth Fairy. And blue eyes _begged_ as he said, “I need you, Hannibal,” there was no spark in the monster’s eyes. Will was almost enraged at that.

“Please,” erase the _almost_ , for there was nothing even close to _joy_ in Hannibal’s face even after Will pleaded to him. Not even a smug, bastard-like smile he had always sported when Will was under his spell.

Something akin to _pain_ (it _was_ pain, if Will had the ego to be honest to himself), when Hannibal obeyed to help, just like that, and called Barney to dismiss his guest.

( _Was it good to see me?_ )

_Good? No._

_I’m sorry_.

***

“He didn’t tell you, when you visited him?”

Bedelia’s house smelled like cold winter dusk, felt like one too, looked like one too. As dark as Hannibal’s lair, lacking of the nuance that he always felt to his bone, though, in the menacing brick house. That afternoon was no different. He had pondered about for almost two hours before actually started driving towards the house, making sure the mask of _coming over_ after a visit to the BSHCI had perched up well on his face.

He was also sure Bedelia could see through that. What was under the mask.

“Tell me what?”

There was a tilt to the head, as Doctor du Maurier shifted calmly in her seat, one leg crossed over the other. It irked Will right to the deepest part of his heart. If he still had one.

“Hm, I supposed he didn’t,” the answer vexed him up even more. He wanted to throttle that throat with his bare hands.

“Tell me what, Doctor du Maurier?” he pushed, voice growing slightly more towards _anger_ , teeth gritted tight, fists on the arms of the chair, a blow or two they were ready for. To the doctor or himself, he wasn’t sure.

Will was also not ready for the answer that he got next.

“Chiyoh passed away. In the hands of those men who took away his family.”

Thus the dim red in his eyes.

***

It was with years of practice with the monster-man himself, of utter calm and not-flinching and not-raging, that he received and processed Jack’s news. Of the complete profile of one Tooth Fairy, who Hannibal corrected, as of the moment he gave Jack the profile, that the man was to be called The Great Red Dragon. Description of his voice too, if that wasn’t enough, of how he might be able to contact Hannibal from his own home.

 _Possible suspect_. They waited for the call to happen, one that Hannibal concocted as the help he offered for the FBI, undercover agents scattered around the brick house waiting for the Dragon to come back.

He did. And they apprehended him. Absolute _betrayed_ written clear on his face as Will watched from afar. Amateur, or only too much _fondness_ for Doctor Lecter that brought him to his downfall.

Supposed to be _glad_ , supposed to be _free_ , finally. That Will would be able to walk the rest of his life with Molly and Walter and dogs and way, way far from Hannibal Lecter. That, _finally_ , manipulation and skull-sawing were no more in the back of his mind.

No more Hannibal Lecter.

Only, glad was the furthest away to describe the turmoil in his chest.

( _Was it good to see me?_ )

_Good? No._

_Yes, yes it was._

***

The sun just set when he broke down the door to Jack’s office. Barrelling with the strength of a stag with fury in his mind, his heart, his face. After he promised himself to visit _him_ one last time, one last time to say those words of goodbyes again, as he harrowingly said to Hannibal years ago, just to hurt him, plant pain in the other man’s body, _seek_ the slip of person-suit even if it was for just a second.

He didn’t think he would be the one to receive all that himself.

When he found only dark and emptiness in the luxurious cell.

“Where did you move him to?”

Jack looked up at him with no surprise, knew the day would come when he had to seal his mouth shut, at the _pitiful_ sounds coming from Will.

“I can’t tell you,” he answered. He didn’t even as flinch at the fire ignited in the ocean of blue.

“The fuck you mean you can’t tell me? Where the fuck is he?”

A sigh, fingers laced together on his desk, gaze shifted to Will’s shoes, before it flicked up again and told him the truth, “Hannibal _requested_ not to tell you his whereabouts.”

Snort, one so full of _mockery_ and _fuck-hell-I-can’t-believe-it_ , Will whispered, mimicking the older man’s tone, “ _Requested_ , huh?”

“He wanted to fulfil your wish, for the last time. For the help to the FBI, we agreed.”

 _He wanted to fulfil your wish–_ es.

At that Will stopped thinking. Stopped breathing for a second. Everything felt like it stopped.

_I’m not gonna miss you. I’m not gonna find you. I’m not going to look for you. I don’t wanna know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore._

He was supposed to feel _glad_ , _delighted_ , _elated_.

Supposed to.

***

( _Was it good to see me?_ )

_Good? No._

_But, Hannibal, take me away with you._

Too late.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, sorry for the misspelling or something unpleasant. I just had this imagery of sad Hannibal, like what if he just gives up after so many tragedies in his life, so he asked Will for the last time, got his answer (which Will would most probably regret now lol), and up and leave. he's so heartbroken after all.


End file.
